La vie en bleue
by AmoretteDeMorte
Summary: Christine has been driven insane by her extreme paranoia that the phantom of the opera is not dead. Raoul seeing his wife’s mental health deteriorating decides to send her to a mental institution.
1. Mischievious secrets

-1 "He's not dead", The Viscountess muttered to herself quietly.

Raoul De Chagney looked upon his wife with the same depressing face he had been wearing for months now. His wife, his little lotte, had been in this melancholy state ever since the letter arrived. A red skull latched to the front, the only indication of who it was from the monster was dead, thrown back to hell with his dark melodies and constant rage. Yet, his wife could not fathom this truth, consistently denying what lay right before her eyes.

"Christine….he is dead", he tried to talk some sense into her.

"He cannot be Raoul, I can still feel him", she whispered back.

"You're living on false hope Christine, do not let this eat at you!" she just sat their staring out the window. The sunlight dancing across her pale features

A broken china doll and unfortunately, he is not a doll maker, he cannot put her back together. Therefore, he shall leave her to her misery, and hope that maybe she will snap out of it. If she is not better by next month, he will be unwillingly dragged into taking drastic measures.

Gathering his wits about him, he gathers a horse and asks a servant to tell Christine he will not be home for dinner. It would be a wonder if she even notices.

The scenery blurring around him helps to distract his thoughts, and clear his head of its turmoil. Hooves beating on worn pavement are as an aria compared to the silence that is usually resonating. His mind set on one destination, he veers the stallion to the right, through hazardous woods and over the rickety bridge. He could find this place in his sleep, a retreat from melancholy into desire.

Three knocks, two raps, a tap, a combination that every infidel from here to Spain must know. The Viscount hears the familiar footsteps approach; the wafting aroma of cinnamon arouses him. Flashing images of various nights go pounding through his skull, as a heart-shaped face makes its appearance in the crack of the door. Two blue eyes look back at him, and a corner of her mouth turns upward.

"Monsieur De Chagney", her voice seems to purr the Rs. "Back again?"

"Madame Rouge, you must know by now I cannot stay away from you", Raoul replied, letting that boyish charm he is known for shine through.

Opening the door wider she allows the viscount into her cabin. It had a simplistic layout, consisting of only the major needs and a pair of curtains draping the back wall. Taking his coat she leads the viscount through the velvet lined passage way. A trip they've taken together far too many times to count. He swiftly grabs her from behind, trailing sensual kisses down her throat. He leads her backwards in a seemingly desire-laced trance, removing the worn robe that encloses her figure. She quickly strips the viscount and moans deeply from his wandering hands.

The rest of the night is composed of a deep concerto involving high sopranic gasps and rich altoic moans. A sinful opera takes place between the viscount and a common whore, an opera that should be with his wife, who sits at home alone.


	2. Chapter 2

-1 Christine Daae sat in a dream-like haze, mulling over her racing thoughts. That was constantly whirring into a hurricane-like clutter of disfigured faces and red roses that have tormented her ever-deteriorating sanity. Never leaving her bedroom window, the pattering feet of the servants are the only sounds she hears. It would seem like an imaginatively meaningless existence on the outside, but alas, it was a sadistic love affair on the inside.

_"Yes or no! If your answer is no, everybody will be dead and buried!"_

A single sentence that in that moment weighed heavily upon her, and the lives of the people she knew and those she did not. The grasshopper or the scorpion, the Scorpion a figure of life, and the grasshopper destruction. Key players to the nightmares that plague her at night.

"_The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!"_

"Excuse me? Madame De Chagney?" A trembling servant girl questions towards her. She slowly turns towards her, showing that she had her attention.

"Dinner is almost ready Madame, Le Viscount says he shall not be joining you tonight", she says. Christine turns away from her, a rude way of dismissing her, but she cannot help but not care at this moment in time. She hears the footsteps as they walk quickly out of the room; no doubt off to discuss the queer behavior of her mistress to the other servants. The walls speak of their gossip, and she doth hear their every word

Getting up she walks deliberately slow towards the wardrobe. Choosing a simple dress to wear for tonight, since Raoul is not here, she will be dining alone Out of the room and descending the stairs, she must appear like the undead to the servants gracing the hallways. She takes her chair and eats small bites of the dish she is served. Slowly she looses herself again to her phantom driven mind.

The plate of food blurs in front of her, until she can no longer tell which shape is her plate. The room spins and disorients her perception of where she is. A blurred shadow comes towards her; the words that are being told to her are muffled and indecipherable. She stares wide-eyed at this thing until it finally takes on a shape, but the thing looking back at her freezes her blood inside of her veins.

There is Marie, one of her maids, looking at her questioningly. Now normally this sight would not disrupt Christine in the least bit, if it had not been that Marie's face was not hideously deformed to the point of horror. Christine let out a scream that would rival any lead sopranos, and sunk down to the floor. The scream reverberated throughout the entire household alerting every person in the vicinity.

Everyone came running down to see what horror has caused the terror-filled scream. To Christine's horror every man, woman, and child who ran through that door had the deformity of the one and only phantom of the opera. Skeleton faces looked towards you, each one missing a nose. If you had been standing outside the house of the Chagney's you would have heard the spine prickling screams of what could only be the voice of someone facing unnatural horrors.


	3. Chapter 3

-1 A/N- sorry for not updating, the time changes have thrown me off schedule.

Disclaimer- I own nothing, nada, zilch

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The look on Christine has resembled that of a mad woman's. Curls floated about her head like a devil's halo, and the wild glint in her wide brown eyes did not seem to counteract this. Skeletons danced around her vision, and the sobs emitting from her throat left it red and sore.

She tore through the crowd of fleshless lips smiling at her. It would seem that Christine had walked into her own personal hell. The drunken demon laugh of the phantoms seemed to ring repeatedly in her head. Hallways drifted into dungeon walls, and the rushing of water was clear in her ears. Her head turns left and right everything seems to blend in together. A chill inches its legs down her spine, a spider transmitting fear into her brain.

Tick. Tock. Tick .Tock. Suddenly a persistent ticking etches itself into the picture. Christine looks around her, but nothing is their. Until….hands finds their way onto her corset, dancing an erotic dance across her skin. It seems to set her on fire with its slow, gentle, yet completely controlling actions. She is lost in the ecstasy that simple touch could give, something Raoul who was too pure and light-hearted could never do. It was something completely sinful, and she rather be damned then never feel it. Slowly turning her head Christine is confused when she is looking directly into the face of a clock.

Taking a step backwards, she analyzes the situation thoroughly. It seems to be a man. He is dressed in a divine black suit with dramatic white gloves, and he seems to be perfect in every way. However, if you dismissed the body and focused mainly above his neck you would find a perfectly round clock. Ticking its way about.

_"You must make your choice! The wedding mass or the requiem mass!"_

The hands spun faster and faster until they just stopped at a sudden pause. Eleven O'clock glared obviously at Christine in its pristine arrival. Mocking her in a simple, yet perverse way. The temperature of the room seemed to rise as she stared at this queer individual. He held his hand out towards her in a most courteous gesture. She inched towards him and brought her hand forth slowly, and delicately placed it into his palm. When palm touched palm a jolt went through Christine's body. She closed her eyes to the abrupt pain, so when she opened them she had no idea where she was.

She stood facing a mirror with seven copies of it all around her. Twirling around Christine could find no end or beginning to this sequence. Coming back to the mirror where she first began Christine found she was facing him. Dressed finely in an all black suit and a devilish white mask embodying the top portion of his face. He is a man that if you met once you would never forget him. He makes an intimidating figure yet the aura that flows from him reeks with mystery and draws you into its murky depths.

_"You don't love me! You don't love me! You don't love me!"_

His voice echoes throughout the room and Christine's reflections begin to weep. The water leaks from within to the outside of the glass, trickling slowly down the surface to gather into puddles. She cannot help but weep with them.

_"Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry!"_

The last straw she can take, and she falls to the floor. Her tears mingle with her reflections'. The water slowly begins to gather and rise from the floor. Christine's vision goes black as she succumbs to darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

The Viscount de Chagny was on his horse headed back to his wife. After a night of passionate embraces he tried to keep the guilt at bay inside of him. A fake smile plastered to his face, which did not reach his eyes. He pushed his late night encounter to the back of his mind, telling himself that his charm could win through anyone. 

Though his happy thoughts did not last for long, Christine's down trodden state etched its way back into his mind. He compared his wife to that of a living corpse. Her chest heaved with every breath, but she was dead eyed and unemotional. What could he do? He tried not to think of the ultimatum he had set for himself, it unnerved him. Settling such depressing thoughts behind him he continued his journey back, already conjuring a faux explanation for his absence from dinner. Arriving at his front gate he can't help to marvel at its architecture. What woman, man, dead or alive would not be happy in such a place like this, the Viscount could not grasp how with what wealth he had he couldn't make his own wife happy.

Horse hooves thundered down the rock laden path towards the viscount's abode. Be fore he could reach the stables two maids ran up to him and commenced to ramble hysterically.

"Monsieur! Monsieur! The Viscountess is-"

"She has gone mad Monsieur! Mad I tell you!"

"Her face was ghostly pale and the screams we-"

"Ladies Please!"

As though struck by an invisible force the maids quickly gathered their nerves and quieted before their better.

"Now, if you would please tell me what you were trying to say"

"Monsieur De Chagny, the lady of the house has gone mad, last night at dinner she screamed so loud, and ran throughout the house shrieking until she passed out, we moved her back to her room to rest"

"She frightened us very much Monsieur De Chagny, it was like she was possessed!"

Raoul's mind slowly processed this information. Finally, comprehending what was being said to him, the Viscount jumped off his horse and bolted into the room him and Christine shared. He found Christine in a deep sleep. Her eyes fluttered erratically from behind her eyelids. Whimpers escaped from her throat and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Raoul stroked her hair and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. He hoped that his voice would at least soothe her through the terrors of her mind. It seemed his actions contradicted this, for Christine let out a cry and a hand reached out to scratch his hand away. Raoul arched his hand back out of her reach and stared at her in a new light. The glow upon her skin seemed to fade and the luster of her hair seemed dull. He no longer knew who this woman was in his home. An imposter has unknowingly come into his home, wearing his little lotte as a cloak. He would have to get this demon out of his house; he no longer felt the guilt that deprived him his happiness.

Raoul reached into his beloved's hair and grasped it tightly by the roots. The pain that filled Christine's skull was enough to awaken her from her deep sleep. She snapped her head upwards and gazed into Raoul's eyes. They took on a cold tone; he seemed like a statue with gems for eyes. Christine had never seen the hard lines that now graced Raoul's once soft and charming features. Raoul then dragged her out of the bedroom kicking and screaming for him to release her. It seems that Raoul had finally reached his breaking point. He cold no longer handle the rejection of someone he chose to love.

So he would treat her like the monster she still wept for. Raoul threw Christine into the basement of the house, where she would rot until he called the asylum to come and get her. To him Christine was dead, and their lived a demon in her place.


	5. Chapter 5

Christine yelled and clawed at the door until her throat was raw, and nails were bleeding. Her barely awake mind was processing at a slow rate making it extremely frustrating for her to comprehend the situation at hand. Her eyes snapped open from the sensation of what felt like bird's claws digging into her scalp. The nails most likely leaving indents and the spots throbbed in a slow thudding rhythm against her skull. This may be a prelude to the oncoming headache that was merely a tremor right behind her eyes, but what would surely come full circle at a most inappropriate time.

The rocks cut into her through the shear nightgown that she was adorned in. The dank smell of moss and other mildew wafted through her senses in a most displeasing way. Highlighting the terror that she was alone, but not just alone, she was alone in complete darkness. This darkness caused her heart to pound its way against her ribs, trying to flee and maybe find a candle for itself. Her breath coming in quick pants matched her wide bewildered brown eyes that resembled an animal backed into a corner. Clasping her hands to her chest and curling in a fetal position Christine breathed slowly in and out trying not burst into hysterics, which would not help the temperament that Raoul seemed to be in.

"_Monsieur De Chagny are you quite certain?"_

"_Quite"_

"_But….you do realize that this is a very drastic decision to even think….."_

"_Monsieur, I have thought long and hard about this it is the only way"_

"_Alright, let me see her"_

The whispering outside the door had been bugging Christine for a while and she wished for it to stop. It took no village idiot to figure out that she was the topic of discussion. Apparently Raoul wished to do something either to or for her, and she could not find herself to care too much. Since flashback from her dreams of this night or last night, she could not tell which one it was, had come to her in her paranoid state that something was lurking in the dark.

A streak of light pierced into her mind sight and the outlines of two figures made her raise her body into a sitting position. Obviously male one she could identify as Raoul, the other a stout, short man that seemed to waddle when he walked. Not bothering to turn her head Christine merely rolled her eyeballs in their sockets toward the interesting pair. She could easily compare this man to a Walrus that has lost his way from the shores, and the thought made her giggle in the back of her throat. The noise must have seemed strange to the walrus, because his eyebrow shot up and disappeared fully into his hairline. This seemed to be the straw that, well you know, since Christine broke into hysterical giggles which seemed to coerce her into miniature seizures.

The Walrus, as I have deemed him, shook his head and looked up at the Viscount, a silent agreement passed between them. They left closing the door behind them and leaving Christine to her own hysterical behavior behind them. Again Christine was utterly alone and the darkness seemed to swirl with colors of blue, greens, and reds all combining together to twist their way across her line of vision. She seemed to be in a trance-like state, not asleep and not fully awake, just there. Like a daydream with your eyes open this strange newly discovered world let the hours fly by.

Until multiple footsteps could be heard again, snapping Christine out of her colorful self-induced dementia. She couldn't tell how many of them were their, they seemed to mix together ad become a single ominous chorus, like a drum beating for an unknown purpose. Listening to the drums beating louder and louder until they stopped right outside the door, a pregnant pause followed by the creaking of the rusted doorknob that seemed stuck in its place from the dampness that the cool air brought. It was, eventually, wedged open revealing the smooth marble face of Raoul, his pale skin seemed like a frozen porcelain mask, which made her shudder unknowingly to herself. Breathing through her mouth Christine eyed not Raoul, but the men who stood like the statues in the graveyard. Their eyes deep-set, mouths in a single tight line that seemed permanently set like some scar cut across their faces. But the thing that disturbed Christine the most were their eyes, they seemed almost black in the dim light of the hallway. These were eyes that had seen the dark pits of the world, like she herself had seen, and she pondered to herself. Did her eyes reflect that same darkness?


	6. Chapter 6

"You did not tell me Monsieur Chagney how badly off she was, the woman I just saw was nothing but a walking corpse" Doctor Knapp exclaimed. Raoul nodded his head in a quick gesture, barely moving his eyes away from the scene that the door exposed. Though only a sliver of light was let in, he could clearly see the pure gown turned dingy from being in the dirt, and the brown curls that once bounced with life now seemed like dried ink stains that have limply curled around each other. It was a sad sight, the slow destruction of a once sought after opera singer, now looking like a spinster on her last coin.

"You will take her?"

"Are you certain Monsieur she is…"

"Was…"

:Cough: "Excuse me…..was…..the love of you life"

"You may take her now, I get sick just looking at her"

With one last glance Raoul walked down the hallway past two solidly built guards that would soon take Christine away. Monsieur Knapp shook his head gently and preceded to step into the poorly kept room and to the lost angel that seemed to huddle and Satan's throne. She seemed aware of his presence shifting a little the closer he stepped to her. A dingy angel fallen from heaven, and here if was to bring her to one of the hells on earth. For, the Pyrenees insane asylum was not a pleasant for even the most deranged souls.

"Madame De Chagney, my name is Monsieur Knapp, and I am here to take you to a place where you may get better"

He tells a quick lie that had rolled itself off his tongue many times in numerous years. He has learned the way of royalty, lie today and cover it up tomorrow. Accepting his role and the grim reaper he is to coerce the patient in soothing tones so as to lessen the results of them kicking and screaming. He feels no remorse as Christine lifts and tilts her head a little to his statement, a childish act she has yet to outgrow in her womanhood. It makes her endearing and he cannot help but feel a pang in his chest, it startles him because his heart froze over the last time he checked it.

"Make me better? Are you a God Monsieur?"

"A God? I should think not"

"Then maybe, a saint?"

"A saint Madame? Surely, I am nothing more then a helper of those in need of care"

"Then I don't believe you could relieve me of this 'illness', as you call it"

"You do not believe you can be helped?"

"Do you believe in witchcraft, monsieur"

"I did, as a young man in life"

"Well Monsieur, I have seen Satan, and he cursed me with such an enchanting voice it still echoes its soft tenors in my head, I have touched his hand, kissed his lips, and been seduced into a world of darkness that at one point I would have never returned to the light if asked. And then I killed him, I betrayed him worse then Eve with her cursed fruit, and he wept the most pitiful lullaby that my ears have ever been graced with. Monsieur I am a murderer, and if anything I should die myself for hurting such a creature that bestowed itself upon me"

"But you said he was the Devil, surely you cannot possibly love the devil, that is witchery milady"

"No Monsieur, for when he wept that night as I looked back, I saw the wings sprout from his back, and I realized that he was a God, a God of music"

'_she has surely lost her mind' _Dr. Knapp thought to himself. '_She speaks of Satan and fallen angels, Monsieur Chagney was certainly right this poor girl has lost touch with reality, she lives in her own fantasy world._

Dr. Knapp raised his hand and the two guards came forward and quietly entered the room. They glanced at Dr. Knapp before moving forward and gently picking Christine up by both arms. She gave no fight, it really would not have mattered, she was to frail to fight off these guards, and even in her best shape she could not fend them off. If seen from the outside it would look like two boys decided to play a game to see who could rip the rag doll in half first. Christine hung limply between them, hair flailing limply before her face and legs barely keeping instep of the fast pace strut the guards took. She could hear the soft waddling of Knapp's pudgy feet trying to keep up behind them, which again made her giggle at the image of dancing walruses.

"Christine!"

Her giggling cut short Christine looked at the brown riding boots that seemed to invade her vision of the wooden floor. Christine raised her head enough that one brown eye could e seen behind the curtain of hair. She would not dignify this man of seeing her in full shameful glory, she at least had some integrity left, that had not shed itself from her body.

"No, Little Lotte, Raoul?", Christine exclaimed with a small smile playing upon her lips. Raoul could only glare in response and nod his head at the guards to continur their trek to the front door. It reminded her of her wedding, the maids lined up leading her down an isle to a new life she had never to experience, yet this walk was not of bright smiles and flower it was darker, a strange melancholy air that seemed stale inside of her lungs. She was pushed, if not thrown, into the carriage and joined by Dr. Knapp who seemed a bit out of breath. He looked her straight into the eyes and told her the most sincere thing he has said in many years.

"Keep your bravery Madame, for they will surely strip you of everything else"

A.N.- Sorry about the long wait, school has been hectic and i've been trying to catch up


	7. Chapter 7

-1_"Keep your bravery Madame, for they will surely strip you of everything else"_

This phrase seemed to echo through cramped corners of Christine's already fragile skull. Pounding its way like a strange incantation sent to either curse her or endow her with some celestial gift. She has lived by those words everyday, so much that she can still smell the faint wood of the carriage and hear the horses slowly galloping over the rocky roadway. In the beginning, Christine took these words as some scare tactic, a jest the doctors used to make you trust them, and open your heart into their analytical ears. She was naïve; again, in her life she had been a naïve fool and had not relied on the good advice of those around her. Had she become so mistrusting in her years? Maybe a certain demonic saint had rubbed his musk onto her soul, branding her as an obvious outsider.

They did strip her, in the figurative and literal since, the first thing Christine felt upon entering the doors of Paris' highly praised mental asylum was the cold, yet clammy hands of a rather burly female nurse, who stripped Christine of her fine cotton, and her dignity. Not knowing of the consequences, she struggled, kicked, screamed, and pleaded until her throat tore, and blood leaked its way from the corner of her mouth. Poor Christine, did not know of the guards of hell, and how the tears of angels were usually a mockery among their lively discussions, for is she did, maybe, she would have known about the favorite past time of the hellions.

It is like a game, filling its players with a sense of impish glee that would make the most cold-hearted man in the world cringe. The victims, or participants, are like the mice at the hands of cruel children with nothing better to do. Being backed into an inescapable corner your put face to face with the horror that you are at the mercy of these fiendish ghouls, a plaything. Except, wouldn't you ponder that the worse punishment would be to humiliate you? Kick maybe even burn the flesh that keeps you living. No, these people do no such thing, they do something worse…they ignore you. Shackled to a large expanse of graying white walls, next to you is someone so far away from reality, they urinate themselves in a large puddle next to you, you can plead with your heart for them to move you, but they just walk by, as if only a rather uninteresting painting were hanging there.

This was exactly the predicament Christine was being placed in, shackled to a wall with the random gibberish and shouting of the mentally unstable. Her hands grew sweaty, and she glanced from left to right searching for any salvation that may lead her away from here. And, for one second, a door opened, letting in such a bright shade of light that she thought heaven had opened up especially for her, to take her home. God aims to punish those who have sinned in his eyes, and though she sang like the angels, she has fallen and therefore was not worth saving. Therefore, Christine was punished, with the giggling voices of the rich and the deep tenors of their mates, who emptied their pockets to gawk at the sight of her insanity. The bright smiles they wore only increased when the soft tears gave away to hysterics and Christine could not be discerned from the rest of the drooling patients who clawed at themselves in an attempt of an unreachable freedom. She had broken, her sacred mantra fluttering into the air above her, no longer a main priority. Christine clawed at her own wrists, and bit into them, anything if only to unshackle herself from the wall. Blood streamed forth, coating her chains in a glossy red coat, and pouring its way down her skin. Through all of this, she could hear the comments that the rich had given themselves permission to throw at her.

"She is a lively one, isn't she dear….."

"My, she reminds me of the savages in the east……"

"Oh!, look at how she bites herself, like some wild animal in the forest.."

"Please!, this thing is no human, if she wishes to act like an animal, then she shall be treated like one!"

"She is a terror, isn't she?"

"A true monster…….."

It was this last moment, which seemed to spark a sudden intrigue into Christine. A monster…, not human… a terror? All words that she has heard spoken and has spoken herself, but to hear others speaking them at her at her, was a new reality. Was she not the conqueror of the monsters that lurked in the dark, did she not face, what she thought, was the ultimate evil and come out whole and pure in the end? Did she? Maybe, she was not as pure as she thought, maybe a darkness that she had not known about had inched its way into her soul slowly turning into a murky gray, and finally, the infamous black.

One final question seemed to turn her into a living statue, the only evidence of life being the shallow breaths that could be heard if you listen closely. Did she care? Her life had taken a tragic downfall, leading her into imprisonment by the hands of the man she was suppose to love. She had been lying to herself for the past years, by feigning that she could not be happier living in seclusion, and abandoning her opera career to raise a family with Raoul. She has not sang in months and doubts she could hit the high notes that she use to. She has lived a hollow life, magnificent from an outsiders point of view, yet missing the sustenance that should makes waking up every morning something to look forward to. Had she become a version of the Phantom of the Opera? Living behind masks that would make her more pleasing to the outside world, yet hiding her true self from their prying eyes. She had come to fear the scrutinization of those around her and hiding away from the prying questions that begged to be release from the high class gossiper's lips. A female phantom! the thought sent a rack of giggles through Christine's form that seemed more like mini seizures from the onlookers point of view.

"Girl! Have you become possessed or have you finally lost your mind?"

"I had one to lose??" , Christine choked out through her hysterical fit of laughter, which induced a domino effect until all the patients were giggling through chapped lips at some unseen joke lingering in the air. The nurse meerly rolled her eyes and glared at the little wench who dared to make a mockery out of her. Who was she, a mere crazy without the good common sense to survive in this world, to joke with her. She was below her, she had no right to even feel comfortable speaking to her without a quiver of fear in her voice.

"What is your name?"

"They call me Little Lotte!"

Another round of giggles seemed to burst forth from the group who found this conversation to be the funniest thin they ghave seen since old Philipe Marchons jumped out of the window when the invisible crows decided they wanted to peck his eyes out.

"Little Lotte, hmmm?, well Lotte do you know what happens when you upset a nurse or another one of your betters? You get to have quiet time all by yourself, why don't you all tell Lotte about quiet time?"

At that statement the whole room silenced, and the patients glance nervously among themselves, each willing the other to speak so they would not have to.

"Cosette!!, you have been in their quite a number of times have you not? explain to Lotte how she should keep that tongue of hers silenced so as not to face such a cruel punishment!"

Christine took in the sight of this girl named Cosette. She was a blonde, though her hair was a brownish color and slightly ratty from a couple of unwashings. Dirt and other substances clung to her face like a second skin, giving her an almost wild appearance, as if she had lived most of her life among the animals in the forests among France then in the towns of people. She was petite and held a set of heavy lidded Grey eyes that made her seem tired and dreary of life. A slightly pointed nose and thin lips gave her a regal disposition that accentuated the high cheekbones she was endowed with. If they had met in a different setting, and time, Christne would have thought her a lovely girl cooming from high society to mingle with the other aritocratic families. But here, this place seemed to place a clammy dampness upon her skin, makiing it appear as if she was always in a cold sweat. The feral look she gave Christine perfected the picture of a savage ready to pounce whether you came in peace or war. It wasn't until her raspy voice rang in Christine's head did she look up from her observations. This girls voice was like rust, it made what would have been a soft soprano creak at the high pitches in her voice and rasp at the lows.

"It is basically torture, Branks they call them, if it is not the humiliation of wearing a donkey's face upon yours then it is the gag that will get you. To bring shame upon us, to make us seem barely human, they take joy in using the devices that most resemble the animals of low society. The Ass, the Pig, sometimes rats, basing what you wear on what they felt you would have been if you were born an animal. The ass, if they find your stupidity amusing, percieving you as slow compared to them and untalented when compared to the rest of society. The pig, when smells start to flow from your body until the rest of the group can smell you within a five foot distance, which they accomplish by diminishing the amount of baths you get in the month. The rats, are the lowest, if they give you a rat to wear, then you might as well forget about living at all. The rat means that you've reached the final stage, where you are no longer treated or seen as a human. They feed you your food from off the floor, and force you to walk on your hands and knees withing their prescence. Some patients don't know which is worse, the humiliation of the masks, or being shackled to these walls while they walk by and not let you use a bucket to release yourself in. Either way as little bit of your humanity is stripped away, and in the end, can you really be called human anymore?"

A.N. - Sorry its been taking me so long to update, school has been taking up most of my time right now. But i'll try to lengthen the chapters since my updated are coming further apart.


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